About Connie Wieneke

I like to think I am grounded in The West, a part of the world that more often than not is at odds with the myth of The West, or tries to live up to that American myth in terrible ways. Too often its story both valorizes and erases events. I have come to both cherish and question my place in this place, within its fragile community of plants and animals, of which I am only a small part. It is a place that demands deep attention.

Since moving to Jackson Hole, Wyoming in 1983, I have put down roots, which means I have made friends, walked the land in every season, planted gardens of flowers and vegetables, raised generations of chickens for eggs. Those roots, however, always feel tenuous, as if a flood, literal and figurative, could wipe all of us that dwell here from this planet.

Note to Reader: If you are offended by cuss words or the F-word, you might not want to enter these pages. Trigger warning of sorts.